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Meanwhile, the Emerald City mayor, old and frail, had decided not to run for re-election.
Out of tragedy comes opportunity.
Stuart Ballerini wants to be the leader of Emerald City, which has suffered a long string of indifferent politicians and deserves better. My father has grand plans to make the troubled city whole and I believe that he can.
Pundits and journalists have been baffled by his choice to appoint me as his campaign manager. Why not hire a seasoned professional with decades of experience and multiple successes? Not a girl who has never scored with a campaign of this magnitude and could easily pass for a sorority coed.
But Stuart Ballerini’s mind was made up.
“They’ll underestimate you, Tess. That will work in our favor.”
He thinks he can ride the wave of public sympathy and goodwill to become king of the city. At his side will be his youthful daughter and his handsome brother, the police chief of West Emerald.
If Uncle Josh has any misgivings about the journey then he never shares them. He is devoted to his older brother after their own parents died young and the Ballerini brothers are a force to be reckoned with.
Two men seated on stools across the bar collapse into braying laughter. One wears a distressed leather cut, the other a dirty green tee that hardly covers his belly. They both look grimy, like some time might have passed since their last shower.
Snob.My own conscience sneers at me.
I try not to be. But growing up in prosperous West Emerald has influenced my view of the world, for better or worse.
Pierce taps my arm, letting his fingertip linger on my skin. “How long have you worked for your father?”
I’ve never done anything else but work for my father. I was still in middle school when I began stuffing ad mailers at the dining room table for my father’s real estate office.
I choose a simpler answer. “Since college.”
“Unusual for a young girl to be managing a campaign this important.” He flashes a set of perfect teeth, teasing as he says this.
The comment makes me want to kick his chair over. There’s too much arrogance in his oily grin.
I don’t smile back at him. “There’s no one better for the job than me.”
I doubt this is true. I am young, lacking the double digit years of experience that my competitors have. But if men like Pierce Carrington can be cocky then so can I.
His smile just widens. “No wonder Stuart considers you his primary asset.”
Another annoying comment. I won’t bother to answer this one. I’d rather sip my drink and stew over how to turn the conversation in a more useful direction.
But the instant I raise the glass to my lips there’s a commotion at the entrance and I pause.
Half a dozen men pour through the door. They all look different but they are cut from the same cloth. Loud and muscled and tattooed, casual in jeans and tees, some also sporting bruises that appear fresh.
The tallest and most striking among them doesn’t smile or laugh while his buddies make a racket as they claim two tables in the corner. This man casts a cold gaze over the crowd, assessing and not lingering.
Pierce notices that my attention has drifted. “See someone you know?” He wheezes out a laugh at the end. To him, the idea that I might have an acquaintance around here is hilarious.
I leave his question alone for now and set my glass down. The man I was watching finishes his quick skim of the bar and joins his friends, who are already demanding a round of shots from the besieged waitress. He is handed a shot glass and downs it with no fanfare like it was water, unaware that I’m watching him.
How could I possibly summarize Micah Lyonne?
My childhood neighbor. My childhood nemesis.
A rowdy boy who witnessed his own father’s brutal murder and then turned uncontrollable.
Once I called him a human volcano.
Accurate then. Accurate now.
